"GOD"
He touches the grass with his glances,
It turns to green and brown;
He smiles at the bed of roses,
They weave a wonderful crown.
It turns to green and brown;
He smiles at the bed of roses,
They weave a wonderful crown.
He whispers in the tree-tops,
Whether in Spring or Fall:
They nod with their loaded branches
And heed His tender call.
Whether in Spring or Fall:
They nod with their loaded branches
And heed His tender call.
He brushes the stirring streamlets,
That freeze, or run, or flow:
He paints with a thousand beauties
This dear, old earth below.
That freeze, or run, or flow:
He paints with a thousand beauties
This dear, old earth below.
He fills the hearts of His servants
With gifts more precious than gold;
He carries them safe in His bosom
Until they enter His fold.
With gifts more precious than gold;
He carries them safe in His bosom
Until they enter His fold.
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